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Memories whiz by Of the life you once shared with your brother. Good ones, bad ones, you name it You thought of them. But the memories stop abruptly Like a car crash. They shatter into pieces At the last memory, Of that one memory. A man pulls out a gun, Points it at your brother And shoots. The bullet passes through Your brother’s skull And he falls to the ground. The man showed no mercy, no reason.

Rage bubbles up inside You at these thoughts. Clenching your fists, You pound on the wall, then Making up your mind as you walk Out the door. Pistol in your pocket, You know what you’re going to do. Revenge sounds nice. Pay the man back For your brother’s death.

You’ve tracked him for days. Very discreetly You follow the man Down the street And into an ally. No one’s around. You grab the man’s shoulders, Push him to the brick wall, Pull out the gun, Put it up to his head. You wish the man Never existed.

You stare into the man’s eyes, See panic starting to surface, Fear gnawing on his insides. Shaking and trembling he Mumbles some words. “Your brother was good, And I would take Back that mistake If I was given the chance. I feel as guilty as ever.”

Staring at this scum, You loosen your grip On his shoulders, Take the gun from his head, Slip it back in your pocket, And stare silently For some time At this lowly creature Before you.

You could shoot him if You wanted. It would be easy. Aim, put pressure on the Trigger and BAM, He’d be dead. Except you’re not a murderer, And it would be too quick Of a relief from the guilty Consciousness this man lives with Of killing another Who was innocent.

Instead you punch him In the face, Hard as you can. The killer falls to the ground And looks up confused. Replying to his Look you say, “You killed him, When he was vulnerable, Like a scared, wimpy, coward That can’t face his fears. Now you will live with knowledge That you killed him And are putting his friends and family Into a sadness You’d never understand. And it will drive you mad, The guilt of it.”

Crimson blood dribbling from his lip And his nose, The man looks up. His face contorted in pain, But not from the punch – from knowing that he, Yes he, has to live With the fact He killed an innocent man. A man who shouldn’t’ve died.

A wail escapes the lowly mans mouth, A pitiful cry can be heard, As he weeps to himself About how sorry he is. The man apologizes to you To try and make it better. But you’ve turned your back And are heading out the alley. Back to your home, Back to your life, Back to everything.

You know of course That that man, That man, took a life. And it will kill him slowly Just like he deserves.

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